


All I Ask of You

by CapGirlCanuck



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, BROTHERS2INFINITY, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Gen, Hugs, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Softness, nothing but brotherly love and affection, srsly them being soft cause they need it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapGirlCanuck/pseuds/CapGirlCanuck
Summary: Because no matter how much pain there may be, no matter how hard the days may get, they will always love each other. It's all they ask, all they have, all they need. To the end of the line.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7





	All I Ask of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Griselda_Banks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Banks/gifts).



> Just something I dashed off for a change of pace, instead of working on my WIP. :)  
> Set during Bucky's recovery in Wakanda, sometime before _Way Back When_.  
> Partly inspired by the song "All I Ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera, which I quote, and misquote (on purpose). 
> 
> Grizz, you know who you are, you know I love you.

He sits quietly, arm wrapped around his knees, staring out at the city shrouded in rain and mist. It is one of his favorite places in the apartment when he is feeling worn and empty: sitting on the floor of the living room, right against the glass wall, so he is on the edge. When he leans against the glass he feels like he is hanging in the sky, suspended in nowhere. The view of the city and its changing colors, between sun and cloud, evening and morning, night and day, is nothing and everything at once.

Behind him he can hear Steve in the kitchen, smells of supper drifting out to Bucky’s nose. Somehow, it makes everything worse.

He thinks of Steve’s hand on his forehead, supporting as he leans over the toilet. He thinks of warm arms, holding him close. He thinks of damp t-shirts, and whispered words. He thinks of the pale face on the pillow next to his, and the blue eyes that say a thousand _‘I love you’_ s with a moment. 

He is thinking too much.

He focuses on his breathing, sitting so still that the only thing moving is his chest. In. Out. In. Out. Something Steve says often, _Just breathe._ Something Dr. Lin has told him, _Keep breathing. When you can do nothing else, just take one more breath. And another. And another. And one more._

His eyes are tired. He is tired. How can he be tired from a day in which he did almost nothing? He tilts his head to rest his cheek on his knees, his hair swinging down to brush his hand.

He is not cold. The sweater he is wearing is one of Steve’s, thick and warm and fuzzy-soft on the inside. He can feel it on his arm, across his back, wrapping around him. He is wearing his favorite black jeans, and thick socks with crazy patterns in different shades of green; he got them at the market on his last trip there.

He closes his eyes, opens them again.

Steve is singing softly in the kitchen. “Say you need me every waking moment, turn my head with thoughts of summertime.”

Has he ever told Steve what a good voice he had? He must have, someday. Steve has always had that voice, even when the singing was hindered by the weakness of his lungs. Steve could make a song big and strong, he could make it sunny and playful, he could make it soft and gentle…

It doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes when it is just the two of them, lying awake when they should be sleeping, Steve will sing instead of talk. Sing the soft songs that echo of innocence and childhood and mothers’ voices. He had sung last night.

Something is gathering in Bucky’s chest, something… painful.

He takes a slow breath, lets it out, returns his gaze to the outside world, trying to focus on the small shapes of flying cars, trying to count them. But he is listening to Steve and can’t concentrate.

"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night..."

Steve stops singing. “Hey, Buck,” he calls. “Everything’s almost ready. Just gotta wait for the lasagna to cool a bit, so it sticks together better. Sam says you have to let it sit for ten to fifteen minutes.”

Bucky cannot speak. He doesn’t know what this is, this thing rising in him, or is it settling over him, like a heavy blanket?

He thinks of Steve, holding him close as he sleeps. Of Steve taking his hand when they walk in the sunshine, because he knows that it is the only thing keeping Bucky here, present, the only thing reminding him that he is Bucky and not an Asset, _with a mission, where, who, how_ _–_ No, Steve.

He thinks, _how can he stay?_

He knows the day will come, when the sun will come out for more than a day, more than a week, more than a month. He knows he is moving; whether up or down or straight ahead, he is moving forward. But he is here, now, in this day, this long uncertain day, in a long uncertain week. And he wants to leave it, he wants to see it end, he wants to be anywhere but here.

Steve is here. No, far beyond that, Steve is _still_ here. He was here last month, and the month before that. He makes phone calls and he sends text messages and funny pictures of Sam. He tells Bucky he loves him. And he comes to Bucky. He comes to him in the darkness and in the light, and he smiles— _he smiles—_ when he sees Bucky, before he pulls him into his arms, holds him close against his chest where his heart beats, so powerful and firm against Bucky’s.

And he thinks, _I’m not worth it, and I don’t deserve it. But I love him for it, I love him._ The love is stronger now than the shame and worthlessness, tangling with it, but there is a sadness he cannot shake.

Has he ever told Steve how _much_ he loves him? How much he is grateful for every word, every action no matter how small? How much he loves the way Steve puts him back together, no matter how Steve himself is breaking?

He _wants_ to tell him. To tell him over and over, so the light is there in his eyes, and he hugs Bucky close, and the burden he always carries is lifted. He _wants_ to tell him, in ways he never has before (because of course he’s told Steve he loves him), he wants to say his name and make Steve know he sees.

He sees the gifts Steve gives him, a thousand of them, every day, and Bucky wants to give this gift at least in return. But he cannot speak.

“Hey, Buck.”

The voice is close behind him, the warmth of Steve’s presence, before he touches Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky is crying, rain falling on both sides of the glass.

He stands, turns. Steve facing him.

His lips are trembling, a sob in his throat, as he reaches to place his hand alongside Steve’s face, cups his cheek. Through the haze of tears, he sees those blue eyes, where he finds love, where he finds hope, where he finds himself.

A ragged breath, catching in his throat, but he senses how Steve smells of garlic and good warm things, and everything in him tangles together, and he does not say, _I love you._

He says, _“I know.”_

Steve is warmth and strong arms wrapped around him, and Steve is shaking, his shoulders heaving under Bucky’s arm. Bucky fists a handful of Steve’s sweater, pressing against him.

“I know,” he chokes out. “I know how hard it is. I know… how it hurts you. I know I’m not… easy to deal with and I know I’m… dangerous and angry, and when things… go to hell you always take… the worst of it.” He is crying and talking, but Steve is crying harder.

“I know you hold my hand… and you call me or text me every… single day you can. I know you… watch me at night when you can’t… sleep, and I know how you keep… chocolate in the bathroom for me to suck on after being sick-k-k.” A bigger, shuddering sob, that takes the breath out of him, but then settles him.

“I know I don’t think I’m worth it, and I know you say I am.” He closes his streaming eyes, presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. _“I know what you do, Steve._ And I can’t… ever–” He gulps, grips Steve tighter, if that’s even possible. “I can’t ever pay you back, and I know… you don’t want me to say it like that… so I just wanted to _give_ you that… back, I guess.”

Bucky catches his breath, and he feels the utter surrender in Steve, the unhindered emotion pouring from within the chest heaving against his. He gropes for more words, but all he gets is another round of sobs.

So they cling to each other and weep.

Because they are not worthless and empty. They are not inadequate and unseen. They are known and they are loved.

When they begin to settle, when the sobs slow to ragged breathing, when Bucky finally shifts, and feels Steve’s hold loosen slightly to accommodate. That’s when Bucky pulls back just enough, enough to see Steve’s face. Steve takes one hand from Bucky’s back, swipes his sleeve across his nose, before he looks up.

Steve’s eyelids are puffy, the blue irises shot through with red, his face flushed and wet. Bucky knows he must look just as bad.

But he sees it there, in Steve’s trembling smile, in the way he cups Bucky’s cheek and wipes with his thumb at the tears there, most of all he sees the light, the spark, the… not happiness, but… _joy_ he wanted so badly. The joy he wants for Steve; because Steve is the only reason Bucky knows what joy _is._

Steve’s lips part as he takes a breath, but Bucky beats him to it.

“I want to give you something.” In Steve’s arms he can be this open, this vulnerable, this honest. “I want to give you something, because you give me everything, and all I can do is take it. You _do_ everything for me, and I…” A sniff, a long breath. “I want to do something for you. What can I do for you?”

There are fresh tears on Steve’s cheeks as he leans forward, and they rest their foreheads together. Steve’s lips move soundlessly, once, twice, and Bucky thinks he can almost hear Steve thinking; he’s known him since fourth grade, after all.

_Just be my friend._

_Just be my brother._

But the words that are spoken surprise both of them. And then they don’t.

“Love me,” Steve whispers. “That’s all I ask of you.”

Bucky’s hand slips down to press over Steve’s chest.

“You know I do.”

And now he laughs, and he does not know what else to do, except move to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead, before pulling him back into a hug.

“You know I love you, Stevie. You know I do.”

Steve’s warm cheek presses against his. “I do. I do know. And you know I love you back, Buck. You know I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs.

The tension and the fear and the pain and all the tangled longings are gone, loosed, he is spent and full. He has everything he needs, right here in this moment. There is warmth, there is safety, there is love.

“I love you… to the end of the line.”

Steve laugh is a soft kind of music, and he turns his head to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you to the end of the line too.”

They stand in that embrace for a long time, until their stomachs remind them how much energy crying can take.

But Bucky finds he is full in a way that goes beyond food, even as they sit at the kitchen table, and share their simple meal of Wakandan lasagna and salad and ginger snaps, speaking little, but smiling often. Joy is a fragile thing, but it can raise the dead, and he is alive in a way that he had forgotten was possible.

He knows, even as he lies in bed, waiting for Steve to finish in the bathroom, hardly able to keep his eyes open, that the darkness will return. That the voices of shame and fear will be heard again, and that Steve will still hurt and break on days when the weight gets too heavy.

Steve comes in, shuts the door behind him, and then he is smiling at Bucky, and Bucky is smiling back.

Because the light will never really leave. And neither will the love. And maybe the more he can believe that _now_ , the easier it will be to believe it next time, and the time after that, and the time after that.

Steve finds Bucky’s hand under the blankets, even as he reaches to tap the light off. Bucky scoots closer, nestling against Steve’s side, and Steve turns toward him, wrapping his arms around Bucky. Bucky closes his eyes, and listens to the beat of Steve’s heart.

They are both asleep, before they can say anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are a huge encouragement. :D See y'all round.


End file.
